On The Death Of A Young Lady

SCARCE the sad tomb on one loved child had closed,
Nor had the parents' bosoms ceas'd to bleed;
A soften'd calmness had their griefs composed,
Submiss to what th' all-gracious God decreed:
When lo! again the messenger of death,
From Heav'n's high throne with woe-fraught mission flies;
Another blooming victim yields her breath,
Another angel's wafted to the skies.
Oh! she was beauteous as the blush of morn,
Was all parental fondness could desire;
Each grace that can the female mind adorn,
Beam'd in her looks, and bade all hearts admire.
The modest sweetness of her native mien,
Bespoke a soul of pure seraphic birth;
The host that minister to man unseen,
Recall'd their sister spirit from the earth.
Could Pity's sighs but soothe parental grief!
But what, alas! can sighs or tears avail?
To give the mind thus deeply pierced relief,
E'en Friendship's tenderest sympathies must fail.
'Tis Heav'n alone such anguish can assuage,
Alone the balm of consolation pour;
He but demands your children off life's stage,
Their forms in angel brightness to restore.